I stand in this breath
as if it were a soft doorway
opening to the wild hush of everything.
The world leans in
holding its cup of warm light
and I drink it slowly.
Time forgets its hurry
and becomes a friendly stray
curling at my feet.
For a moment
there is no before
no after
only this
bright bead on the string of living.
JH
In quiet fields where soft winds roam, we stand
And feel the breath of those who marched before.
Their names drift through the grass like distant sand
And settle in our hearts forevermore.
We promise them our memory will stay
As still as dawn that trembles into day.
The poppies rise in gentle crimson light,
Their petals catch the turning of the sun.
They glow as if they gathered up the night
Then traded it for hope when morning won.
So when their red blooms stir beneath the sky,
We look, we breathe, we remember why.
JH
I want more kindness in the world
not the kind that hides in silence,
but the kind that rolls out like sunlight,
healing strangers.
I want kindness that speaks up
when cruelty takes the stage,
that plants itself firm as an oak
and says, “No. Here, love grows.”
I want kindness that lingers
not a passing smile
but a steady flame,
lighting doorways where the lost wander,
offering bread,
offering rest.
I want kindness in the clumsy,
in the ordinary,
in the hands that hold shopping bags,
in the voices that say hello
and mean it.
I want kindness
not because it is easy,
but because it is strong
a rebellion,
a revolution softer than steel
yet sharper than any sword.
I want more kindness in the world,
because kindness is not small.
It is the thing that saves us,
the thread that mends us,
the promise that
we are still
worth saving.
JH
The air grows cool with whispers low
As leaves drift down in a golden flow
The trees wear crowns of russet and flame
Each day arrives yet never the same
A hush of smoke curls from distant fires
The dusk draws near with tender desires
Crisp apples gleam in the orchard light
And owls awaken to sing through the night
The earth now rests in a slower song
The season knows where hearts belong
In fields of bronze and skies of grey
Autumn invites us to linger and stay
JH
I am a voice that listens,
a heart that leans forward,
a soft light in the corner of the room.
I’m not the door that slams,
not the echo of anger
that bruises the air.
I am a hand reaching out,
a thread tying strangers
to the same bright sky.
I’m not the scissors of cruelty,
not the knife of silence
that cuts connection in two.
I am curiosity,
the spark that asks why
and keeps asking.
I’m not the wall that blocks,
not the heavy lock
on imagination’s gate.
I am a messy, learning. human
a traveller carrying both shadows and suns.
I’m not perfect,
but I’m not done,
and I won’t be done
until love has the final word.
JH
There’s a moment in the hush between heartbeats,
When holding on becomes heavier than hope
and in that silence,
you learn the art of release.
You untie the knots you tied in stormy weather,
loosen your grip on ghosts in the mirror,
and find that your hands
though empty
are free.
The past does not apologise,
nor promise not to sting.
But you,
gentle and fierce,
choose peace over proof,
flight over fear.
You are not the branch that broke,
you are the wind that moved on.
Not the anchor rusting below,
but the tide that still sings to the moon.
So let go,
not in weakness
but in wild, sacred strength.
Let go like dusk lets go of the sun,
trusting it will rise again.
JH
In an alley where lanterns lean low to the wall,
And shadows lace gently across evening’s shawl,
A voice like warm velvet begins to arise
A sigh wrapped in music, a tear in disguise.
Fado, they call it the song of the street,
Where sorrow and beauty in silence meet.
A woman in black with a lantern of flame,
Sings of lost sailors and love without name.
Her voice climbs the stones, where the old trams have been,
Where laundry sways softly and hearts have grown thin.
A guitar responds with a tender refrain,
Like waves kissing rooftops again and again.
It’s not joy, not quite sorrow it lives in between,
In the corners of cafes, where time is unseen.
It lingers in hearts like a kiss that won’t fade,
A memory worn, but never betrayed.
Fado remembers the ones who have gone,
The night with no moon, the silence at dawn.
But still it keeps singing, both broken and bold
A story of Lisbon forever retold.
So sit by the window, let your thoughts drift away,
To a city that sings even after the day.
And if you should weep, let it be soft and slow
For Fado is weeping, and wants you to know.
JH
Artwork by Julan
They called you names like broken glass,
Threw words like stones, each meant to pass
Their shadows onto you, but dear,
You’re forged of light, not born of fear.
They saw your quiet, called it weak,
But silence roars when kind hearts speak.
They mocked the way you danced alone
But stars don’t ask for praise to shine.
You are the storm they couldn’t tame,
The ember they refused to name,
The poem scribbled in the night
By hands that dream in black and white.
Unwanted? No. You’re carved from grace
A universe inside your face.
Each scar, a tale of battles braved,
Each bruise, a flag for what you’ve saved.
The bullies bark because they break
They see your joy, and theirs is fake.
But you, sweet soul, you rise and rise
With every tear, you claim the skies.
So lift your head. You’re not alone.
This world is yours. This heart’s your home.
No cruel word can dim your worth
You are the fire that warms the earth.
JH
We build with hands, we dream with hearts,
We stitch together broken parts.
In every soul, a spark, a flame
A whispered song, a sacred name.
We laugh, we weep, we mend, we try,
We plant our hope beneath the sky.
And in each gaze, a world begins
A million losses, a thousand wins.
If we but look, just still and true
We’d see the light in me, in you.
For humankind, in all its grace,
Is stardust walking, face to face.
JH
He came with a grin like a curtain call,
A crown of lies, a voice too tall.
He promised light, he sold the stars,
Then paved the streets with prison bars.
He whispered sweet to aching pride,
“You’ve been forgotten, cast aside.”
He kissed the flag with fevered lips,
While freedom sank in sinking ships.
He fed the rich, he starved the poor,
Then blamed the weak, and locked the door.
A gilded cage he called a dream,
Where justice choked on silent screams.
He built a throne on blame and spite,
Turned neighbours into things to fight.
He made the truth a bitter joke,
Then laughed as bridges turned to smoke.
His name in lights, his hands in gold,
He sold the past, the brave, the bold.
And though the world around him burns,
He spins and smiles, and the crowd still turns.
For some are blind, not by the night,
But by a man who dims the light.
A showman’s charm, a hollow hymn
The country bows, but not to Him.
JH
Julan62 